The Alchemaster's Apprentice - By Walter Moers Page 0,16
my friend!’
‘Nobody understands us Leathermice!’
‘Nobody!’
‘Nobody!’
‘Nobody!’
‘Wrong is right and ugly is beautiful!’ they chorused.
‘People hate us - they’re frightened of the way we look.’
‘They smoke us out whenever they can.’
‘They put up nets and beat us to death with sticks when we get caught in them.’
‘That’s what we call wrong!’
‘Nobody understands us Leathermice!’
‘Nobody!’
‘Nobody!’
‘Nobody!’
The hisses of assent rose and fell.
‘Ghoolion doesn’t hate us.’
‘He isn’t afraid of us.’
‘He gives us a place to sleep.’
‘He ensures our survival.’
‘What’s so bad about him?’
‘He cooks animals!’ Echo protested.
‘Well? Who doesn’t?’
‘I don’t!’ Echo said firmly.
‘Don’t you? Are you a vegetarian?’
‘No, I’m not, but I don’t cook animals!’
‘You eat them, though.’
‘Well, yes, but …’
‘Did somebody own you before Ghoolion?’
‘An old woman. She died.’
‘Too bad, but didn’t she sometimes cook an animal for your supper? A salmon, maybe, or a chicken?’
Echo hung his head. ‘Yes, she did.’
‘Well, does that make your former owner a bad person in your eyes?’
‘No,’ Echo was forced to concede.
‘What about you? Did you eat these cooked animals?’
‘Yes.’
‘Does that make you a bad person in your own eyes?’
‘I’ve never thought about it.’
‘Thinking doesn’t seem to be your strong point.’
‘Have you ever eaten a Leathermouse?’
‘Never!’ Echo insisted.
‘How about a mouse?’
‘A mouse? Yes, of course, but not a Leathermouse.’
‘So what about: “Mice, Leathermice - what’s the difference?”’
The loft rang with indignant snarls and Echo realised that pursuing this conversation would only make his predicament worse. Mice of this kind were no fools. It seemed they intended to humiliate him for fun before killing him and that he could do without. If he had to die, he preferred to get it over quickly.
‘Now listen, all of you,’ he cried. He abandoned his crouching stance and boldly raised his head. ‘I apologise for my behaviour when I came in. I was scared and tried to disguise the fact. I thought I’d made a deal with Ghoolion, but it seems I was wrong. I’ve done you no harm, so I don’t see why you’re putting me on trial here. It’s time you stopped grilling me like a criminal. If you’re hell-bent on killing me, so be it, but I warn you: I shall sell my life as dearly as I can and take as many of you with me as I can catch. There may be a lot of you, and you may be able to fly and suck blood, but - pardon me for saying so - you’re still only mice when all is said and done.’
A good farewell speech, thought Echo. He particularly liked the final sentence.
‘You made a deal with the Alchemaster?’ one of the Leathermice asked after a long pause.
‘He drew up a contract,’ said Echo.
‘A contract? That’s serious.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I mean you definitely have an agreement with him - as you’d very soon find out if you tried to break it.’
‘What form did the contract take?’ demanded another Leathermouse.
‘He wants to buy some fat from me.’
‘You deal in fat?’
‘Just body fat. My own.’
‘That’s a barefaced lie. You don’t have an ounce of body fat.’
‘No, not yet. Ghoolion plans to fatten me up by the next full moon. Then he’ll slit my throat and render me down.’
The loft fell silent once more. Not a Leathermouse stirred. Echo heard the wind whistling outside and rattling the tiles. Somewhere a crow cawed. He’d completely forgotten the existence of anything apart from the loft’s gloomy interior.
‘In that case,’ a Leathermouse whispered, ‘you’ve no time to lose. Get out on the roof.’
Echo thought he’d misheard. Was he free to leave? The Leathermice were absolutely silent now.
‘You’ll let me go out on the roof?’
‘Of course. That was never in doubt.’
‘You don’t intend to kill me any longer?’
‘We never did. It was you that encouraged us to pull your leg a little. We’d never harm anyone who uses the secret door. It means he’s Ghoolion’s guest.’
‘Besides, you’re inedible.’
‘Inedible?’ Echo was feeling utterly bewildered. ‘Why?’
‘We can smell you are.’
‘Your vital juices are no use to us.’
‘Too clean.’
‘Not enough adipose fluid.’
‘You must have two livers, or something.’
‘By the way,’ said the Leathermouse who had initiated the conversation, ‘what’s your name?’